


Written With You

by EatTheRudeLambs (RowanRiordan)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU- Real World, Alana is helpful for once, Cute stuff will happen, Fluffy, Hannibal has a temper, Hannibal in Love, Hannibal is a slob, Hannibal the author, M/M, Mischa the kitten, Someone still needs to help Will, This was inspired by alot of Mads's movies, Very AU, Virgin!Will, Will the muse, also angst, smut later, tw: abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanRiordan/pseuds/EatTheRudeLambs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The next morning his brain was on fire, itchy with thoughts and meanderings he nearly ripped his laptop open to pour out. Eyes still blurry he scrawled on and on in curvatures of language about Will whose last name he didn’t know and his soft hair and blue eyes and the keening, intense craving that pulled at his greying hair and scratched his day old beard, worrying his still taut and limber muscles. He desired Will. He knew this one, this would be his best muse.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which Hannibal is an author and Will is his new muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mocha

The new barista was attractive. Soft curls, scruffy chin, pale but healthy. Hannibal couldn’t help the smile that graced his visage when his drink was passed back to him. 

“Thank you.” Their fingers brushed during the transference, causing sparks to alight on his skin. 

“You’re welcome. It’s my job.” He was cheerful, albeit a little polite. Leaning on his forearms, Hannibal let his eyes drift over the younger man, licking his lips in a measured way. 

“You’re new?” His nametag read ‘Will’. Short for William maybe? Or something more exotic. 

“Yup. This is my first day.” Thoughts of his soft fingers and rough cheeks pushed their way into Hannibal’s mind. He gave Will another smile before stalking back to his booth. It could only be considered stalking, the predatory way he dominated any space he inhabited. Pulling a cigarette from its case, he looked back to let his eyes linger on the man. Will returned the contact momentarily, before turning away in what Hannibal could only perceive as embarrassment. A toothy grin broke his face and his slender hands set to the keys again. Will had done wonders to his muse. 

 

Throughout his career Hannibal Lecter had had many muses, young men and women whom he often brought to bed. They fueled his long nights at the keyboard, and he had several publishings to show for it. But they always saw too much of themselves in his work and in the end it was what drove them off. Even as his eyes lingered on Will he knew he couldn’t risk it, the transformative burst that pervaded his skull, begging him to characterize the barista. 

He returned every day that week, an uncommon occurrence. He admitted that it was his favorite café, the only one in town that allowed him to smoke while he was there. Will worked most days, and those short moments he spent while waiting for his caffeinated beverages sent him into frenzies of thought, incorrigible tangents that his agent rolled her eyes at. But he returned to lay his eyes on the man with the soft curls, baby blue eyes and pale personage. He found himself absorbed by the thought of that skin under his palms, those curls laced between his fingers, those fevered eyes. But he couldn’t bring himself to make any advances toward the man, even with the often less than subtle hints that Will may be interested in him as well. 

Maybe the number sent him over the edge, or maybe it was the cleverness of it, but when he found the phone line sharpied onto the underside of his lid he grinned. Leaning back in his chair, he sent a thoughtful looking in Will’s direction, only to be greeted by a deep blush. 

Maybe that pigment sent him fluttering, but he could feel the deep ache in his ribs, the intense desire to know more about this man, about his life, his mind, his body. Hannibal wanted to grasp it, kiss it and covet it. It would be his. 

 

His studio flat greeted him darkly when he returned, lonely and clutching the informative lid. Mischa, his cat, rubbed her prim white body against his leg when he entered. He ignored her, walking through the squalor of a genius to flop onto his bed, laid out before the tall windows half shadowed by the building next to him. He had no proper bedroom, no foyer nor dining space. As was the life of an author. Even with five books published and gaining in interest he could hardly afford more than the three room space, but it fit his needs and he was not dissatisfied. What more could a man ask for besides a bed, a kitchen and a cat? He pondered this as the later kneaded her tiny paws into his chest. 

 

It was midnight and he was two shots away from either darkness or vomit when he got the nerve to use the number on the coffee lid. 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end did not sound tired or upset. 

“I want to see you.” He purred, unable to coherently form anything besides his raw feelings. 

“Who is this?” Will’s voice was soft, amused. Hannibal ran one hand lightly down his own chest, sighing. 

“Hannibal. Coffee shop. When should we meet?” He shakily poured himself another shot, holding the phone delicately between his shoulder and head. 

“Well I get off tomorrow at five. Would you like to get a drink?” Hannibal fumbled, throwing back the gin. It scalded his throat. 

“Yes.” His skin felt hot in anticipation, tingling at the thought of seeing Will outside of his workplace.

“See you at five.” The other end went dead. Hannibal fell back onto his navy comforter, breathing through his nose. He contemplated a cigarette, but the thought of burning his flat down didn’t appeal to him at the moment. Rolling onto the side he stared at the gentle whorls and curves in the woodwork of his walls, imagining the texture of Will’s hair against his own skin. That’s how the darkness took him, wrapped in thoughts of a man he hardly knew. 

 

The next morning his brain was on fire, itchy with thoughts and meanderings he nearly ripped his laptop open to pour out. Eyes still blurry he scrawled on and on in curvatures of language about Will whose last name he didn’t know and his soft hair and blue eyes and the keening, intense craving that pulled at his greying hair and scratched his day old beard, worrying his still taut and limber muscles. He desired Will. He knew this one, this would be his best muse. 

He showered and shaved and found himself searching amid the mountains of clothes he had procured for his best; the newest dress shirt he could find, a pair of pant that were not faded and torn jeans or covered in stains. Five o’clock approached as silently as his snow hued feline, creeping up the back of his neck and tingling his spine. 

His opportunity had arrived and damn him if he didn’t try and take it. 

Stumbling out of his front door, he made his way down the crowded sidewalk, checking his watch. He would be on time. 

And maybe this time he could keep his prize. 

Will waited for him outside the café.


	2. Chai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal get coffee and Will walks his dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Abuse and sexual slurs

“You sounded pretty slammed last night.” Will commented as they made their way down the street. He had decided on the venue and Hannibal seemed quick to oblige. Not to say Will was socially blind, but he had a feeling he was missing something in the older man’s mannerism. 

“Late night. Sometimes I can’t get the words flowing until I’ve had a few shots.” He liked the way Hannibal’s smiles cracked over his angular face, showing Will his sharp teeth. 

“Is that why it took so long for you to call? Couldn’t get up the nerve?” _I didn’t think I was intimidating._

Hannibal sputtered a little as he held the door to the small shop Will had chosen open. “No, I just happened to decide to call you at that moment.” Will smiled at his fumble, waving him into a booth by the window. 

“I like this place because it’s quiet. Stay here.” Hannibal watched him approach the bar and order them drink. He loved the chai tea they served here and it was better than getting drunk with someone who was already hung over. 

“It’s funny, you work at a café and yet we go to another one.” Will smiled, passing him his cup. 

“It’s quieter here at this time of day, and I like their chai.” He watched the other man put his cup to his lips, taking a long drink despite the temperature of the liquid. His tongue darted out quickly to clear away any froth that was left over. Will felt his skin prickle. This man was so composed. _I hope he doesn’t find me clumsy._

“Ah, uh, Will Graham.” He could feel the heat rise up to his face in embarrassment as he extended his hand, but found the other equally flustered at the thought that they’d forgotten a proper introduction. 

“Hannibal Lecter.” His large hand covered Will’s, making him feel very small and childlike. 

“You’re an author aren’t you? I feel like I’ve seen you’re name around.” Those soft lips twitched in amusement at the statement. 

“Yes. I write murder mysteries.” Will looked down into the curling steam that rose out of his cup. 

“I serve coffee and walk dogs.” His voice was a self-conscious mumble. He could feel Hannibal’s brown eyes sweeping over him, picking apart his expression, his demeanor. He could feel it inside, the low heat the flickered in the other man and it made him shiver. 

“I have a cat.” He sipped his drink again, looking appreciatively at the cup. Will mirrored him, deciding it wasn’t too hot for him anymore. It was strange to feel someone else appreciate the way he moved. 

“Isn’t that kind of cliché? You being a writer in all?” The laugh was rich and gratuitous and oh so inviting. Will definitely wasn’t used to being this hot under the collar. Most of the men that actually went out with him were not interested in him in the least, or small talk like this. 

“I also live in a three room flat but that doesn’t make my writing any better.” There was a mild bitter tone in his voice that denoted dissatisfaction with his work.  


“Well at least you know what you want in life.” That earned him an appreciative snort. 

“Don’t be a writer. It doesn’t pay.” Will found himself enjoying more and more of encounter as it continued. Small talk was never something he was good at, but with Hannibal the words flowed. Maybe that was a part of absorbing a writer, his language skills increased. Or maybe it was the comfortable way he felt near the older man, however much desire and prowess radiated off of him. 

He found himself talking more about himself and asking less questions. He told Hannibal about his dogs and his family, slightly embarrassed that he still lived at home but Hannibal didn’t seem to take note other than to say ‘you’ll have to come to my flat then.’ Which sent him into a sputtering mess for a few minutes while his face burned. The other man seemed to delight in bringing color to his face, dropping less than subtle hints about his intention to take Will to bed. He’d experienced men like this before, but none so charming and evidently patient. 

At the end of the night Hannibal was gallant enough to walk him to his car without the suggestion of staying the night, signaling to Will’s mind that though he was attracted to the younger man, he was willing to build some background beforehand. Their lips brushed gently before he climbed into his vehicle, still tingling from the contact. Hannibal gave him a light smile and wave as he pulled out of the parking lot. 

 

At home he was greeted by Winston and Shaye, as well as his father watching baseball on the couch. He avoided the living room explicitly, heading for the kitchen. Two more of his faithful canines greeted him there, and the five of them walked out into the backyard through the kitchen door. 

The night air was crisp enough to clear his racing thoughts, washing the last bits of Hannibal’s persona out of his mind. He’d liked it, the comfortable way Hannibal’s mentality fit into his mind, encouraging him to open up, speak clearly and will affection. He especially enjoyed the warm heat the settled into his stomach when Hannibal reached out to gently brush his knuckles with worn fingertips and flash him one of his toothy grins. 

Winston crowded around his feet, whining in a way that begged for a night time walk. Will was ready to take a shower but he couldn’t say no to the mutt’s big browns. Whistling for the other three he pulled their leashes off the hook, wondering if he should tell his father he was leaving. Deciding against it as the man had hardly noticed his entrance and his mother wouldn’t be home for another hour, he headed out the yard gate. 

Alana Bloom was standing on his porch when he walked by, nursing a glass of wine. 

“Home late, Will? Not the usual for Thursdays.” Will guided his dogs along her front walk, grinning. 

“I had a date.” He announced leaning on her railing. She smiled, walking down to meet him. He and Alana had been friends since high school, and for a while they had entered a short relationship. That had been just before Will had come out and Alana had stayed friends with him since, even when the others deserted him. 

“Did you? What’s this one like? Another creep?” Will laughed delightedly. 

“No, actually, he’s an author.” Alana sat down on her steps, scratching Winston behind the ears. She thought all of his boyfriends were creeps. 

“Really? Have I read his work?” She offered him her glass of wine, which he took. It was a clean flavor, white and a little fruity. 

“I’m not sure. Hannibal Lecter ring any bells?” She nearly spilled the glass when he handed it back. 

“You’re kidding me! I have all of his books. Quick, get me an autograph before he gets too famous.” Will took a seat on her steps as well, letting the dogs investigate her hedges. A pigeon flew out, sending up a chorus of barking. 

“But really, I have read all his books. Have you read any of them?” He shook his head, picking at the knee of his jeans. 

“Can’t find them in the library.” Alana pursed her lips and got up. Will stood, waiting for her imminent return, in which she brought with her five worn paperbacks. 

“They’re pretty good, really. I hear he’s working on the sixth one right now.” Will took the books from her, sliding them under his arm. 

“Every day at the shop.” He said goodbye to her, taking up his leashes again to finish his late night stroll. Alana waved at him as he took off down the sidewalk, watching the streetlights flicker on. 

He walked until all he could hear was the clicking of claws on the pavement, his road ran out and he took a dirt trail through the small track of woodland that ran behind his neighborhood. He let the night sounds of the woods consume him, virtually blind besides the four dogs the led him. The worn dirt trail was soft under his shoes and the crickets lulled his mind, letting him drift easily between day dreaming and wakefulness. He thought mostly of Hannibal, his easy movement, the languid, domineering way he commanded the space around him. It was a polite, alpha sort of presence that made Will ache to roll over and show his throat. 

 

The lights were on in the kitchen when he returned, close to ten o’clock. He and his mutts swarmed into the small tile room. He stopped to kiss his mother on the cheek, where she stood with a cup of coffee. 

“Kind of late for a walk. Your father says you weren’t home until eight.” Will stooped over to peer into the fridge, pulling out the carton of milk. 

“Bossman made me stay late tonight. Short notice. Sorry.” His mother nodded, reaching out to ruffle his hair. 

“Make sure you eat something before you go to bed.” His mother ambled up stairs to bed. Will made his way out of the kitchen with a glass of milk and two rolls. 

“That’s bullshit.” He heard his father call from the living room as he walked by. His beer gut was swelling out from under his wifebeater.

“I had to work late, Dad.” The old man grumbled, pushing himself out of his chair. Will backed up toward the stairs, hissing at Winston who crowded around his legs rather than going up the steps like his other dogs. His father leaned on the doorjamb. 

“Don’t lie to me, faggot. I told you I wouldn’t have any of your shit under my roof. You wanna fuck around, then get out.” Will could smell the whiskey on his breath when he lumbered forward. 

“I was working-” The glass flew out of his hand, shattering against the wall. Will stumbled back at the force of his father’s hand across his jaw, falling onto the shards of glass and jabbing stair steps.

“Get out of my sight.” The man spat at him, sending Will into a frenzy to get up the stairs. His entire body was trembling, and he ignored the pain in his thigh where the glass had pierced his skin. 

His dogs climbed onto him as he sat down gingerly on the edge of his bed. He continued to sit there, trembling until the pain in his leg was too much but even then he didn’t dare venture out of his room. 

All he could think of through his haze is how much he wished he was with Hannibal in that moment, rather than cowering in fear of a man twice his age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment!


	3. Latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal is intolerant of rudness and meets Will's mother. Also make outs in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this was written on paper so excuse it's suckiness.

“So, uh...” Hannibal leaned on his arms, gazing at Will. He liked the way he stuttered when he asked questions, a nervous tremor in his voice as if the older man would judge him for what he had to say. 

“My friend Alana really likes your books.” Hannibal’s face broke into a grin. “Does she want an autograph?” He purred, watching Will turn around to pull his drink from under the mixer. 

“Yeah, actually, if it isn’t an imposition.” Hannibal covered Will’s hand with his own when he took his drink, ignoring the impatient sigh of the woman behind him. 

“Of course not.” He moved away from the bar, turning to purposefully shoulder the women out of his way. “Excuse me.” He smiled on the way by, pleased by her angry expression. 

 

Bedelia was grumbling at him about how his latest chapters were too sexual. He shook his head absently, running his fingernails over his scalp, dislodging a few stray hairs, which he picked off of his coat. 

“I won’t change it.” She sighed, pacing the bleached tile floor the waiting room. 

“I’m aware of that, Hannibal. Do you have someone new in your life?” He nodded, pulling at the skin of his neck, aware of his day old stubble. The subtle vibration in his pocket alerted him of the phone call before the tone started. Ignoring his agent’s complaints, he exited the waiting room before putting the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” He mused, though he knew the caller. 

“Are you free on Saturday?” Will sounded flustered and rushed. Hannibal could hear the gruff voice of another man in the background. 

“I am. I can meet you around six?” Kicking his shoes against the tile, he gazed around the pristine office, eyes falling on the secretary. He waved but she turned her nose up at him. _Rude._

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks, Alana.” Hannibal would have laughed if it wasn’t for that voice, sounding exceedingly more gruff. He moved back into the waiting room, rolling his eyes at Bedelia’s scalding glare. The voice on the line worried him and his meeting tumbled by in a daze, his mind ready to return to Will. 

 

His prize wasn’t at work the next day, to Hannibal’s disappointment. He took his coffee to go, option for a walk to jog his muse. 

Mind wandering around in circles, his feet dictated his movement more than his head. Thoughts conceded toward the voice on the phone. A father most likely, as Will had admitted to living with his parents. A sick feeling settled in his stomach as he found himself walking into the only city park situated near his flat. He chose a weathered bench in the shade to continue his processes. He didn’t often find himself in places like this, too noisy in the summer season, however today it was quiet save the distant raucous barking of a group of dogs. 

Though his meandering mind has found it’s way back to his novel, he kept getting distracted by the joyous cry of the dogs as they followed the path of a bright yellow Frisbee. It was a large group, consisting of eight or so canines of varying body type and color. They returned to their master, obscured from Hannibal by a stand of trees. 

One of the dogs, a tan mutt with a curled tail, broke off from the pack to come and sniff at Hannibal’s shoes. He let the dog smell his fingertips before scratching behind it’s folded ears. It sat by him while he watched the others, calmly gazing at him with big brown eyes.

“Winston!” The familiar voice did nothing to surprise him, though he felt it probably should have. Will came jogging toward him clad in only blue athletic shorts and a gray t-shirt that clung to him. Hannibal couldn’t suppress the arousal that slid down his abdomen. 

“Hannibal!” Will’s face delighted in the sight of him, though his surprise was unmasked. The older man pushed himself off the bench, mildly perturbed by the dogs that swarmed around his legs, nosing at his pale jeans and shoes. Will squeaked his lips and gave the Frisbee a hefty throw, sending all by the tan brindle mutt careening away across the field.   
“Tell me they aren’t all yours.” Will’s laugh was crisp, welcome in Hannibal’s ears. 

“Ah, no. The black and tan bitch and this one are mine. Shaye and Winston. The two small terriers are my mom’s, the rest I’m just walking.” Licking his lips, he let his eyes travel over Will, who was vigilantly watching his canine daycare. A fading bruise colored his bicep and when he stepped over to take the Frisbee away from a pretty golden lab, his limp was poorly disguised. 

“I looked for you at work today.” Will hurled the yellow disk through the sky again, earning an appreciative stare from Hannibal. The younger’s head came around quickly, slight awe coloring his face as he swallowed. The movement intrigued Hannibal. 

“It’s my day off.” Hannibal motioned for them to sit and Will plopped down happily, radiating heat. Hannibal can smell him, a woody scent mixed with smoke and humanity. He sips his coffee, contented in the companionable silence Will offers, even with his racing thoughts. 

“Are you alright?” Will’s eyes grace him, drawing a delicate flush to his already exercise reddened skin. 

“Yeah, Winston just tripped me going down the stairs last night.” Will reached forward to scratch the dog’s head and his partner noticed the way he winced when he stretched. He smiled softly at the poorly placed lie, unwilling to call on it in this moment. Will leaned back, resting his shoulder against Hannibal’s and sighing lightly, happily, through his nose. A grin was plastered on his face, and that warm ache filled Hannibal’s chest again. He reached up, cupping Will’s stubbly cheek to press his lips against the younger man’s. 

A small gasp escaped him, allowing Hannibal between his lips exploratively. Will tasted minty and clean and he pushed further at the feeling of those soft fingers lacing through his hair. The warmth continued through his chest, up his neck and into his mind, blurring his thoughts until only Will’s mouth remained. Their tongues worked together, seeking to find every crevice and nook within the other, learn every secret hidden there, taste each lie. Hannibal put his fist into those dark curls he loved so much, nipping more savagely at Will’s lips, wanting to covet and consume him, caught in the heated frenzy of his brain. Will groaned, a whimper careening out of his throat when Hannibal’s lips tracked down to bite at his Adam’s Apple. 

They broke apart at the sound of Will’s dogs, impatient to resume their game. He was breathing hard, blue eyes hooded as they cut into Hannibal’s soul, seeking to connect them forever. Hannibal could feel himself sinking into them, clinging to the bench as if it was a life raft until Will looked away, clumsily untangling himself from the trap his partner has put him in. He took a few breaths, facing away from Hannibal as to hide his expression and gave the disk a half-hearted toss. 

His shirt was wrinkled from the fist he hadn’t realized had been there, chest heaving under the deep emotion that coursed through him, touching every fiber of his being. Will turned back to him, expressively guarded and emotionally passive in a way that worried Hannibal. 

“I’d like to take you to dinner on Saturday.” He broke the silence after the two of them had gained control over their own hearts. Will looked at him first with incredulous stupor, and then grinned. 

“I’d very much like to go to dinner with you.” Hannibal could feel his heart twist in an unexpected way that consumed his thoughts even after he’d left the bench to walk with Will toward his home. 

 

“I started reading your first book last night.” A comical groan escaped him as they came on a small dusty blue house. He watched Will unleash the pack of canines into his fenced back yard and motioned Hannibal onto the porch. 

“You can come inside. My mother might be home...” Will bit his lip deliciously and Hannibal traced the fading red oval he’d left in the center of the younger’s throat. 

They came into a small kitchen after pausing for a moment in a hall lined with photos. A short, plump woman was there, doing a crossword at the scuffed dining table. Her curling hair mirrored her son’s save for the streaks of white and grey peppering the dark fluff. She raised a speculative eyebrow at her son’s guest. 

“Mom, this is my friend, Hannibal. I ran into him at the park.” Will spoke to his mother as if he was still 15 years old, rather than a man Hannibal assumed was pushing thirty. She held out her hand, but didn’t move from her seat and Hannibal took a long stride over to her, gripping her pale, slightly wrinkled flesh. Terrifyingly, she wasn’t much farther from him in age. 

“Susan Graham. Nice to meet you.” He gave her a small smile, trying to be welcoming. 

“Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” Her calculating gaze broke into one of peaked, approving interest. 

“I’m just gonna go... grab those books.” Will hurried out of the room like a spooked rabbit, leaving Hannibal alone with his mother.

“So, how do you know William?” Hannibal stepped away from the woman to lean on the kitchen island. Inwardly he smiled at the knowledge of Will’s name. 

“I frequent the shop he works at. I write there.” Her lips made a tight line, as if she’d already guessed Hannibal was advancing on her son like a lion on a gazelle. That metaphor struck him by surprise to the point of smiling. 

“What do you do for a living?” He hated repeating himself, and luckily Will took that moment to return, spilling some worn paperbacks onto the counter next to Hannibal. 

“He’s a published author, Mom.” Will supplied, stealthily taking her pen from where she’d left it on her crossword. He handed it to Hannibal, who turned away from the two Grahams. 

“Alana really likes his books.” He carefully signed each copy, adding the date and a small note scribbled into each of his five books. 

“And maybe someday my scrawl will be worth something. For right now, I’m self-employed, Mrs. Graham.” He returned her pen and stacked the books neatly. The three of them were silence for a moment, tension rolling off Will in waves. 

“Well, you really should be going, I’m sure you’re busy and I need to take the dogs home.” His eyes were flickering nervously to the clock on the kitchen stove as he led Hannibal back into the hall where the door was. “Thanks for the signatures, I’ll see you on Saturday?” His voice was a harsh whisper when he opened the door, taking Hannibal out onto the porch. 

The strangled cry that escaped Will next sent a chill down Hannibal’s spine before the younger could muffle it. A portly man in a grease stained jump suit was clambering out of a pick-up truck in the driveway. Spying his son and the present guest on the porch, his face twisted horribly. 

“Who the fuck are you?” His tone was callous and left a bitter tang on Hannibal’s tongue. 

“I met him at the shop, Dad, he’s a writer and Alana likes his books he just came over to sign some copies I had because I ran into him at the park.” Will’s rushed words betrayed the fear the soaked into his face, eyes pleading for Hannibal to leave, get away as fast as he could. He held his ground, rage for this fat man in front of his swelling. 

“Well get off my porch.” Will’s father spat, and after a moment’s hesitation and an incessant nudge from Will, Hannibal nodded to the man and stepped off the porch without looking back, knowing his presence would escalate whatever situation was arising if he stayed much longer. As he turned down the street Will’s whimper made his head whip around. The man pushed him back into the house with the utterance of _fucking faggot_. 

Hannibal could feel himself boiling inside, but there was no action he could take at that moment. 

Oh how he wished he could rip the man’s face from his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment~ Also if anyone has any questions, please feel free to ask~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave feedback and I really hope you liked it! Next chapter will be up tomorrow. I'm too tired to write any more tonight.


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